


As Nigh Heaven

by katami_san



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katami_san/pseuds/katami_san
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lost souls find each other and maybe peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Nigh Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Bleach or any of the characters and I am getting nothing from this but my own twisted satisfaction.

I

 

            They had come for him in the dead of night, like thieves or cowards.  They had waited until the war was over - Soul Society was always pragmatic that way.  Always more than willing to let an undesirable work for them as long as they could sweep him under the rug afterwards.

            And while he had hoped for better, Urahara had never really expected it.  Frankly, he had expected them earlier.  They had been winning the war for almost six months; but he supposed there was nothing like certainty.  It wouldn't do to eliminate the dirty little secret and then have things go sour. 

            Kisuke sighed and gave a mirthless smile at Soi Fong's malevolent face as she finished demanding that he accompany her and the rather large contingent of guards she had brought.  He was almost flattered that she thought it would take a captain and six seated officers to subdue him.  She had always hated him though, always blamed him for Yoruichi's leaving.  The Captain-Commander had been wise to send her.  No pleas or clever words would sway her - not that he was inclined to offer any.  He had known this was coming for a long time. 

            In a way it was almost a relief.  He would be judged.  Not for the crimes he had committed, of course, but that didn't matter.  He would be judged and punished for what he had done.  His sins would finally be absolved.  And if his death was the cost, he was ready to pay it.

            The blonde gave the glowering captain of the Second a tiny nod as she finished rattling off the 'charges' against him.  A pack of lies and half truths at best.  They could no longer blame him for what had been done to create the Vaizard but there was just enough truth sprinkled into the charges to make them stick.  The Central 46 would have no trouble finding him guilty...or imposing a death sentence as the penalty for his crimes.  He was actually rather impressed with the subtlety of it all, normally the Gotei 13 was far more transparent in their machinations.

            Urahara sighed and set his tea cup gently on the low table.  The night air was still and he could feel Tessai, Jinta and Ururu slumbering peacefully in the rooms beyond.  There was no need to drag this out or trouble them.  He gave a small sad sigh.  He would miss them.  They had been his family in his banishment - his one solace.

            No...not his only solace, but the only one he had allowed himself, he corrected. 

            There was the boy.  Kurosaki Ichigo.  The fulfillment of all his hopes and dreams given flesh.  His redemption.

            He lifted Benihime from where she sat beside him.  Her power flowed lightly and sleepily over him and he saw Soi Fong and her people stiffen.  They thought he would fight.  Fools.

            'I will miss you, my princess,' he thought fondly at the zanpakutou before setting her gently on the table.  He didn't intend to let Soul Society or the Captain-Commander rip her from his grasp.  And while some part of him perhaps longed to take her up and rage against what was being done, he was too old and had seen enough blood spilled during the war to last him a lifetime.  It was time he answer for all the evil he had done...

            And allowed to be done. 

            'Kisuke-sama?' Benihime's soft voice drifted across his mind, her tones honey sweet and silky smooth.  His princess had the voice of an angel.

            'I'm sorry, Benihime,' he whispered, getting slowly to his feet.  He winced as Benihime gasped, her sharp cry of denial a second later cut across his senses like razor wire.  Her panic was needle sharp and Soi Fong slapped his hand away callously as he reached out to comfort his sword.  Fire flashed in his eyes and for one brief instant his instincts screamed at him to rebel, to fight.  Logic reasserted it self quickly however and his eyes slid closed in silent acceptance.  "You might at least grant me the courtesy to say my goodbyes," he scolded wearily.

            "You will come with us immediately or we will force your compliance," growled the captain of the Second, her eyes glittering and clearly hopping he would choose to fight.

            He frowned and opened his mouth only to gasp as he was forcibly shoved from his gigai.  He stumbled out of his body for the first time in nearly fifty years.  The rush of sensation was nearly overwhelming in its intensity, making his knees weak and his head swam.  There was so much to feel.  There was the tense, malignant power of the guards around him, the slightly cool touch of a Hollow a mile off, the pulsing anger of Benihime.  And a few blocks over, the blazing rush of Ichigo's reiatsu as it flickered over the night, promising both safety and danger.  He drank it all in, swaying slightly under nearly all consuming swell of sensory input.  Strong arms caught him as his knees buckled, and he was helped roughly back to his feet.  Barely a second later his arms were wrenched painfully behind his back and cold restraints snapped into place. 

            Next came the reiatsu suppressing collar snapping around his neck.  He nearly stumbled again as he was cut off from the world once more, only in a way a hundred-thousand times more pronounced than any gigai.  His power was gone and his senses were dulled so far that even Benihime's voice was lost to him, although he knew she was screaming, a banshee song of hatred and denial.

            He felt another moment of blind hatred that his promise of parole would not be enough for them.  If he were anyone other than who he was, his word would have been enough to spare him the chains; but no, he was to be dragged back as a common criminal.  Proof that he had never really risen above his Rukongai origins.  Kisuke closed his eyes at the subtle indignities and tried to draw himself up tall and straight.  He had been a captain of the Gotei 13 once and he would not let them forget that fact - no matter what else he had done and what he had become.         

            The guards took up positions around him, two in front and behind and one at each side.  They marched him toward the where Soi Fong was opening a gate and for just a moment his heart soared.  He would finally be going home - even if it was to die.

            The guards marched him forward and as he entered the gate he felt the tiniest tingle of reiatsu brush over him.  He paused for a second to glance back over his shoulder, something in his chest growing tight as Kurosaki Ichigo stared at him from the edge of his property.  Gray eyes slid closed and his heart ached horribly for a moment before he could school his emotions.

            He wondered if Soi Fong was more clever than he had given her credit for, to have ferreted out the one thing that would cut him deepest; but a quick glance at the young Shinigami merely proved it was his own horrible luck at work once more.  He was being subjected to the one thing he had most fervently hoped to avoid.  He could face his looming death calmly, with the reserve of a captain, but this death of hope - this was the most horrible and insidious of tortures. 

            His turned away.  Unable and unwilling to face the truth he knew he would find lurking in those expressive brown eyes.  Ichigo had gone to Soul Society for Kuchiki Rukia, to rescue her; but no such salvation awaited one Urahara Kisuke.  And that knowledge was a bitter pill.

            "Forgive me," he whispered softly, his head bowing under the weight of Kurosaki's gaze as he marched solemnly through the gate.  Kurosaki had once stormed Soul Society to rescue Rukia-chan; but Urahara didn't delude himself that the boy would do the same for him.  No one would save him.  No one ever did.

            And for just a moment his heart broke with the pain of that knowledge.

 

II

 

            Ichigo felt another spike of rage cut through him, the anger sharp and malevolent, barely leashed.  

            He hadn't believed it when Yoruichi had shown up at his door, out of breath and terrified, claiming that Soul Society had come for Urahara.  He couldn't believe it.  The blonde had done more than anyone to stop Aizen.  The other man had fought beside him at every major battle, stood shoulder to shoulder with him as they walked through hell, taken a sword thrust meant for Ichigo and nearly been killed himself in the process.  Kisuke would never betray Soul Society let alone Ichigo.

            And yet he had watched as that bitch Soi Fong led the blonde away in chains.  At first he had been unable to reconcile the jovial shopkeeper to the solemn and dignified figure he had seen surrounded by guards.  No smile had cracked his lips and there had been only sadness in those mercurial gray eyes.  For a moment he had been mesmerized by the quiet strength of the black-clad figure before him and then he had realized that Urahara was dressed not in his normal green garb but in a Shinigami's robe with a captain's haori draped around his shoulders.  It was then that he had noticed the hopeless despair that suffused the other man, the slump of his shoulders, the downcast gaze, and the quiet acceptance of his bondage.  The utter certainty that he was doomed and that his suffering was just.  And in that moment he had understood - Urahara honestly believed he deserved to be brought low for the things he had done.

            The redhead couldn't explain it, but something had broken inside him at other man's quiet acceptance of his fate, some dam of emotion had crumbled under the weight of watching Urahara led away in chains.  He didn't understand where the rush of feelings came from, all he understood was the rage, the terrible, overwhelming and unholy rage that Soul Society could do this to one of their own.  No, not one of theirs.  The blonde was never theirs and after this he would never be one of theirs.  Ichigo would see to that.

            He had gone to war reluctantly against Aizen, duty and justice spurring him on.  No longer.  Now only fury fueled him.  He would raze the very foundations of Soul Society for what they had done.  He would cut down all who stood in his way, lay ruin to anything that blocked his path and scorch the very earth with the fury of his passing.  Soul Society had taken what was his - his teacher, his nakama, his sword brother - and they would pay!

            He had felt the fetters on his Hollow breaking as Yoruichi and Tessai struggled to open a gate, and rather than deny the Hollow's dark power, he had embraced it.  He had unshackled the demon lurking in the shadows of his soul and offered Shirosaki a target for his rage.  By the time he had stepped through into Soul Society it was all he could do to remember that there was more at stake than simply slacking his fury.

            He had torn the western gate from its hinges with a single cero blast, startling the gatekeeper and the Shinigami amassed behind it.  He hadn't even bothered to battle any of them; he had just let his control on his reiatsu slip a little.  He hadn't seen them fall, flopping to the ground, gapping like beached fish.  The only thing he had seen had been the shimmering white tower in the distance, rising above Seireitei and mocking him with its very existence. 

            Three steps had carried him to the bridge and the only thing that had paused the fourth step had been Hitsugaya and Renji each latching onto him.  "Let. Me. Go," he hissed, the edge of Shirosaki's odd warble accenting the words. 

            "The Captain-Commander, his lieutenant and at least three other captains are over there," snapped Hitsugaya like it should matter to him.  It didn't.  All it meant was that he would have to go through them to get to Urahara; because there was no way he was leaving without the blonde.  The other man had suffered enough betrayals in his life, Ichigo would not add to them by abandoning him now.  Not when it was what he expected.

            "Ukitake-taichou and a number of the others are appealing to the Central 46 to get the order for Urahara's arrest rescinded, but they need time.  The Captain-Commander has a lot of support and Urahara has never been exactly popular" added Renji.

            "No.  No waiting.  This ends now," he snarled, shaking the two men loose and starting across the bridge.  Soi Fong was the first to come at him, slashing at his eyes in a blow that would have been blinding had it connected.  He knocked her aside easily however, sending her petite frame slamming into the tower with a bone breaking force.  "Yoruichi is very unhappy with you," he hissed, twisting the knife and savoring the pain that flashed across her face before she lost consciousness.  Let the bitch consider that when she woke up.  Although he expected the Demon Cat would be taking a few strips out of her former underling's hide once things were settled.  Yoruichi had a certain fondness for Urahara and she hadn't been pleased to learn that Soi Fong had been the one to fetch him.  A dark part of him wanted more, wanted to watch her blood stain the earth, but he pulled himself back, Soi Fong was not what mattered.  Urahara was what was important.

            "That is far enough, Kurosaki Ichigo.  You will not be allowed to interfere with Soul Society's justice for a second time."

            "Justice?  This is what you call justice!" he hissed, feeling his grip on his reiatsu slip.  The wind whipped and darkness tinged his vision for a moment as the world took on the odd, slightly shifted view his Hollow saw it from - the colors growing duller but the edges and angles becoming sharper.  Movements became beacons and even the tiniest twitch of a muscle drew and captured his eyes.

            He could read the subtle tension in the old man's frame as the Captain-Commander stepped to block his path.  The old bastard hadn't shed his guise yet, but Ichigo could feel the gentle pulsing of his reiatsu, the barely leashed fury licking against him and whispering of danger.  Ichigo felt a savage smile split his lips, a smile that promised death and pain.

            That sick fuck Kurotshuchi and Komamura were flanking Yama-jii, but neither of them looked entirely sure or eager about what they were doing.  They were smart enough to realize that when giants fought it was the grass that got trampled.  And to realize that that was what they were - grass.  He sneered at them, Shirosaki's sneer, and let a little more of his power lap against them, savoring the hints of fear that leaked off them.

            "Urahara Kisuke has been legally incarcerated by order of Central 46.  He will stand trial for his crimes against Soul Society.  Leave now and we will forget this incident in light of your service during the war," growled the old man, the planes of his face shifting to something harder, hints of the warrior he had been leaking through.  He wasn't the man he had been even a few years before though.  The war had taken its toll on his power.

            For just a moment Ichigo wondered if the old man knew, whether he felt the press of time yet?  It didn't really matter since _he_ felt it - the tiny fraying at the edges of the man's power, the slightly longer and longer pauses for him to summon his true strength.  Yama-jii was a dragon, fierce and fiery, but he was an old and battle weary beast, not too much longer to his seat.  The challenges hadn't started yet, but they would come soon enough, thought Ichigo.  And probably even sooner after they were finished with him, added Shirosaki with a malevolent chuckle.  

            He was no match for them, not together, not united.  The only question was whether the old dragon knew it yet, whether he realized that his death stood across the way from him, regarding him with malicious golden eyes.

            "I have a counter offer," he growled.  "Give me Urahara and you can keep your lives."  He wanted to laugh as the old man and the clown stiffened as if they'd been slapped.  Then again, it had probably been centuries since anyone had seriously challenged their authority.  The last time he had opposed Yama-jii he had been a green child, new to his power.  He was no longer some young pup still coming into the full breadth of his powers, he was a battle tested veteran and the final stage of the bridge between Hollow and Shinigami.  He was quite literally the stuff of nightmares...

            Or at least he had been for Aizen Sousuke.

            Last he'd heard, they still hadn't found all of the traitor.  And none of the pieces they had found had been larger than his little finger.

            A flick of Yama-jii's hand sent the two men behind him forward and Ichigo grinned.  A quick half step carried him out of the path of their attacks and a moment later he was wheeling to confront them.  He wondered about turning his back to the old man but figured it didn't much matter, in a few milliseconds he would be elsewhere and the old man wouldn't be willing to fight dirty with so many of his people watching.  It said bad things about the leadership when it had to resort to cowardly attacks to win.  If the old dragon attacked him while his back was turned he would have an insurrection on his hands.

            Komamura slashed at him and Ichigo twisted aside before slamming his fist into the fox-man's midsection.  For the briefest second he felt Shirosaki's hunger rise, the urge to push harder, to break the other man's power and consume him.  He curbed the urge and knocked the captain of the Seventh aside and turned to confront Kurotshuchi.  He sneered and wondered just how creative he could get on taking apart the captain of the Twelfth.  Even Urahara couldn't object to that bastard having an 'accident'.

            He viciously attacked the eerie looking captain, slashing at his head and snarling.  Kurotshuchi blocked his blow and tried to disengage, to get the space he would need to use his bankai or whatever other little tricks he had.  Ichigo grabbed his wrist, pulling the other man close and smiling wickedly as the sick freak cursed and tried to get loose.  A dark flash flew at him and Ichigo growled, twisting aside, satisfaction blossoming on his face as bones grated and shattered under his fingers.  Kurotshuchi grunted, following him to try and lessen the damage to his wrist - and unbalancing himself just a tiny bit in the process.

            “You lose,” he hissed at the freak, using his grip and tossing him into his vice-captain as she made a second pass at them.  The two Shinigami tumbled together for nearly 50 meters before coming to a halt.  He fired a cero blast at them and moved on as it hit.

            Komamura was back on his feet and growling softly at him.  He felt Shirosaki grin at the challenge and knew his eyes were shifting to black as the Hollow rose.  He fired a cero blast straight at the fox-man’s muzzle, following the blast-

            Komamura dodged the blast and ran straight into his sword.  The captain of the Seventh grunted as Zangetsu sank into his right shoulder nearly six inches, nearly severing his arm.  A kick to the left knee sent the larger man to the ground.  “Stay down,” hissed Ichigo, turning away, hoping Komamura would be smart enough to listen.  If he got up Shirosaki would kill him, his instincts would demand nothing less for a challenger of the fox-man’s caliber.

            He turned hard gold eyes onto the Captain-Commander, a savage grin pulling at his lips as he noticed the old man’s reiatsu.  “One last chance, old man.  Give me Urahara or I rip this place apart and take him,” he warned quietly, his voice the soft croon of a Hollow at his most dangerous.

             “The traitor stays where he is and this ends now, Kurosaki,” rumbled Yama-jii his voice as cold as an arctic wind and as immovable as a mountain.  Ichigo glared darkly before a taunting grin broke his lips.

            “Then you die,” he told the old man, firing a cero and swooping in to attack.  His lips pulled back into a mockery of a smile as Yama-jii was ready and waiting to block the expected blow - that never came.  Instead he twisted aside at the last moment and slammed another cero blast into the old man’s side.  The blast did little more than rock the oldest Shinigami, but Ichigo knew it was am important start - it proved he could hit the old dragon.

            An angry rumble filled the air, white hot and filled with fury, Yama-jii’s reiatsu.  It was like someone had given a volcano flesh and intelligence, decided Ichigo.  The old man’s power was like a lava flow, unstoppable and unrelenting -

            For most people anyway.

            He wasn’t most people.  He laughed and let the old man’s power beat against him for a moment, Shirosaki lapping it up eagerly, before loosening the last constraints on his own power.  A whirlwind of black and silver erupted out of him with a sound that was both a roar of fury and a scream of loss.  Hollow and Shinigami, protector and destroyer, two halves found their common ground and united in a single purpose.  Icy wind met scalding fire and exploded in a violent blast that rocked the earth and sent reverberations through the air.  Every person present, save for them, was knocked back and slammed to their knees as they tried to remember how to breathe.

            Fire rolled forward and he laughed, a ringing hollow laugh that chilled all who heard it.  He flicked his wrist almost lazily and sent a Getsuga Tensho slicing through Yama-jii’s power, savoring the flash of surprise that flashed over the older man.  “Warned you,” he teased, a wisp of Shirosaki’s cruelty bubbling to the surface before he attacked, viciously slashing at the other man.  The Captain-Commander met him each time he struck, blocking each blow with an apparently effortless skill.  Only he could see the beads of sweat forming on the older man’s brow, or feel the minute fluctuations of his reiatsu, the tiny fractures in his power. 

            “Problems keeping up, old man,” he taunted, leaping back as the Shinigami commander parried his blow and lashed out with his reiatsu.  They traded blows, him moving restlessly around the field as Yama-jii stood his ground, as if planted in that spot.  He felt the shift as the old man went on the offensive and grinned, eager for the fight to be over.  Fire erupted around them, the air itself seeming to burn up with the old man’s power - and for just a second he was impressed.

            It wasn’t every day a dragon died, after all.

            He gathered his own power around himself and launched himself at the older man, viciously and brutally slashing at him.  Each blow whittled away a tiny part of the terrible firestorm until steel met steel in a ringing blow.  He grinned maliciously at Yama-jii - and let his own reiatsu spill out.  Black lightning crackled across their blades and into flesh.  He felt the older man’s reiatsu rise up to meet his and smashed through it. 

            The Captain-Commander dropped like a stone.

            And the ringing laughter of a Hollow filled the air before cold golden eyes flashed to the remaining Shinigami, daring them to oppose him.  No one stepped forward and grim determination replaced the cruel joy on his face as he turned to regard the tower.

            A single blast tore the tower door from its hinges, sending the heavy steel flying.  It clattered to the floor with a ringing crash and Ichigo stepped into the shadowed interior, blinking as his eyes adjusted and searched for Urahara.  Finally movement from a second story window drew his gaze and Ichigo stared, hardly able to believe what he saw or the swell of emotions that filled him.

            Urahara sat there, clad in a simple white kimono, a reiatsu suppression collar around his throat and his hands bound in heavy chains.  That wasn't what froze the Vaizard though, it was the hollow emptiness of the eyes the former Shinigami turned on him.  All the merriment and joy that had lurked in the blonde's eyes were gone, replace by a horrible, crushing sadness.  Ichigo watched as Urahara blinked in genuine disbelief, as if he honestly couldn't believe what he was seeing, couldn't understand what was happening.

            Darkness rose in a sharp and heady rush inside him.  Damaged those eyes said.  And something inside Ichigo screamed in violent denial that anything should hurt this man.  A man who had saved his life and sanity more than once, a man always willing to offer comfort and support.  The man who had followed him into battle with quiet strength.  His teacher...his sword brother...

            Love, something inside him whispered, giving a name to the quicksilver feeling that slithered through him.  Love.  The man he loved.

            For a moment Ichigo felt the world freeze, perhaps waiting to see what he would make of the sudden revelation.  As he stared at those broken gray eyes and the sad beauty they belonged to, he realized that it didn't matter.  Knowing what it was didn't change anything.

            Shunpo carried him up the stairs and to the blonde's side; as he knelt a fine tremble seized Urahara and he seemed to reach out for Ichigo for a second before his chained hand fell back into his lap.  A sharp spike of rage shot through the redhead as he stared at those graceful hands and slender wrists - and the manacles encircling them.  He grabbed the chain, pouring power over it and tearing it away like tissue paper.  He stared at the faint pink that ringed the blonde's wrists, areas where tender skin had chaffed due to the rough metal rubbing against it.  Ichigo felt a frown tug at his lips and gently touched the abraded skin with his fingers.  Gray eyes closed and the older man's trembling grew even more pronounced as he flinched away from the gentle touch. 

            A sliver of murderous rage slid through him, tempting him to go outside and finish what he had started.  To take the old man apart piece by piece until there wasn't enough left to fill a shoebox, let alone a coffin.  How dare they hurt Urahara this way!  How dare they twist him and break him so that he thought they had the right to do this!  How dare they lay one hand on this bright, brilliant soul.  The man he loved.  Ichigo wanted to find the people responsible and watch them bleed, to tear their souls into confetti for the blonde to play with.

            "It's alright.  It's over now," he told the older man gently, tamping down on his rage and letting his fingers brush Urahara's hands.

            "You came," breathed Kisuke, his voice whisper soft and so heavy with emotion that Ichigo was shocked the older man wasn't crying.  He sounded so surprised, so overwhelmed that anyone would care enough to come for him, to rescue him.

            "Dummy.  Of course I came," he growled at the blonde before letting his face soften and his hand settled on former Shinigami's.  He tried to pretend the tiny touch was enough, that he didn't want to wrap the blonde in his arms and hold him until the haunted look left his face; but Urahara wouldn't have accepted the comfort.  Wasn't ready to believe in it or him, realized Ichigo.

            "Come on, Kisuke.  It's time to go home," he murmured gently, standing and holding out a hand to help the blonde to his feet.  Urahara hesitantly took his hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet.  Ichigo watched him carefully, noting the tremble in his limbs and the dangerous swaying of his body.   Kisuke looked as if he might topple over at any moment and Ichigo carefully slid an arm around the other man's waist, subtly taking his weight and helping to steady the blonde.

            Urahara's steps grew slower and more hesitant as they neared the opening and Ichigo tried to pull him closer, to convey through his touch that the blonde had nothing to fear.  They reached the divide between the shadow of the tower and the sun lit ground and Kisuke froze, staring as if mesmerized.  Ichigo stepped carefully into the light, turning back to try and silently urge the other man forward, but Kisuke just stared and trembled.

            "Kisuke," he pressed softly.  Gray eyes sought his, lost and confused, unbelieving, unable to grasp that he might be free.  That there just might be someone who didn't expect him to pay.  Ichigo gave him a tender look, gently tugging him forward through the doorway and into the light.  "Come on," he whispered, catching the blonde as he stumbled.

            For a moment there was silence, as if the universe was waiting to decide whether thunderclaps and trumpets were necessary.  Apparently the universe decided something far more remarkable yet understated was appropriate because Urahara Kisuke collapsed against him, hot tears raining onto his chest as the blonde softly sobbed.  Ichigo awkwardly wrapped his arms around the older man, taking the chance to run his fingers through the blonde's silky hair as he held him close and tried to sooth the former Shinigami.

            "It's alright.  It's over now, Kisuke.  You're safe, I promise," he crooned softly, holding the other man and just letting him cry it out - much like his mother had used to and like Urahara had once done for him.  He let hands trail gently over the blonde's back, amazed at the width of Urahara's shoulders and the supple strength lurking there.  Looking at the blonde it was hard to imagine the strength or ferocity he could bring to bear in a fight.  Ichigo had once seen him cleave an Arrancar in two with little more than the flick of one delicate wrist.

            His fingers brushed something cool and smooth and Ichigo paused as Urahara stiffened minutely.  The redhead cocked his head and felt Shirosaki's dark, murderous rage surge to the fore, his eyes going gold and silver wind whipping up around him.  He gently eased Kisuke away, his heart nearly breaking when long, delicate fingers clutched at his robes and a choked sob slipped from the blonde.  A moment later those fingers released the black fabric and Urahara seemed to try and pull himself together, that horrible accepting mask back on his face.  "Idiot," snarled Ichigo, carefully undoing the collar that had been encircling the blonde’s throat and tossing it away before letting his fingers ghost over that pale column. 

            Kisuke trembled for a second, shocked gray eyes meeting brown, before power burst out of the other man.  Energy poured like water off Urahara, a crimson river that ruffled blonde hair as a ringing note broke the silence.  Red encircled those brilliant gray eyes and Kisuke swayed drunkenly for a second, glowing.  He looked powerful and beautiful, a vision of deadly splendor.  Ichigo felt the blonde's reiatsu wash over him and wanted to moan at the heady, lush sensation.

            He caught the blonde as he legs gave out, sweeping the older man into his arms and glaring menacingly at the few Shinigami who had taken steps toward them.  "Touch him again and I will rip you apart," he hissed.  "From this point Urahara Kisuke is mine and anyone who tries to hurt him goes through me first."

  

III

 

            All he really wanted was to be left alone.  He had thought the drawing of the shades and the firmly closed door expressed his desire quite clearly.  But apparently it was a bit too subtle for some people.  Like everyone he knew.  Tessai kept trying to shove remedies at him.  Ururu was knocking on the door every few hours to press food on him.  Jinta seemed obsessed with making him tea.  And perhaps worst of all was Kurosaki Ichigo.  The redhead had stationed himself at his bedside and refused to budge.  Regardless of the fact that he had pulled the covers over his head and refused to utter a word to anyone for nearly two days now, the redhead sat at his silent vigil.

            No one seemed to understand that he needed to be alone.  He didn't want their clumsy attempts at comfort.  He wanted darkness and solitude.  Time and space to get his head back together, to hide away those parts of himself that were vulnerable.  Soul Society had left him raw and worn, his masks gone and all the old wounds open and bleeding.  He was nothing but a jumble of naked nerves, frayed, frightened and so confused that he didn't even know how to begin mending the hurt.  Wound after wound was piled on his poor, aching heart and he wasn't sure how to even begin addressing the damage.

            He never had been, he reflected. 

            There was a reason he had clung to his jester's mask and bright smile - both covered the dark places inside him.  No one ever wanted to look beyond them to the pain and the hurt lurking under; it was easier and simpler to believe the lie.  Only now the lie was shattered and everyone could see it.  All the pain he had buried was naked for everyone to see.  He trembled and clutched the kimono Ichigo had wrapped him in tighter.  All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and hide until all the old walls were in place and all the hurts were once more buried and hidden from sight.  He hated being so vulnerable, having all and sundry see the chinks in his armor.             

            Kisuke was still unable to think about the way he had clung to Kurosaki and sobbed.  So pathetically grateful that someone had come for him.  He had been so sure he'd been abandoned when Soi Fong had taken him, so sure that no one would come for him.  Why would they, after all?  He had deserved it.  He had spent decades running from it, pretending it wasn't his fault - what Ichigo had endured, the war, all the deaths.  If he had been smarter or better or...or...something!  He would have been able to stop it.  Ichigo wouldn’t have needed to suffer, people wouldn't have needed to die and Aizen wouldn't have been able to seize power. 

            He could still hardly believe that someone had come - and the fact that it had been Ichigo...it was more than he had ever dreamed possible.  No one had ever come for him before.  No one had ever cared enough to save him.  No one had ever cared, period.  Yoruichi thought he was a laugh and she was more than willing to admit that he was useful.  But she didn't love him; sometimes she didn't even like him much.  Tessai was loyal to him and a good friend; but loyalty wasn't love.  And like Yoruichi the other man often thought he was too dangerous to be trusted.  In fact, he couldn't think of one person in his life who had ever loved him.  Certainly not the mother who had left him in a back alley of the 77th.  Or father he had never known.  His fellow Shinigami had certainly never cared.  They had only seen him as a Rukongai mongrel who had reached above his station. 

            But then Ichigo had come.  The young man had rescued him, saved him.  With one sweeping gesture he had passed judgment and declared one Urahara Kisuke to be worthy.  For the first time in his life it felt like someone had cared.  It made all those words he had dreamed about as a child - hope, home, having, holding - suddenly they had seemed real, possible, more than just some wisp of longing to comfort himself with when the nights were cold and he was alone.  It was all real.

            And it was all too much.  That someone could come for him after all he had done, all the wrong choices and all the mistakes.  It still left him weak, afraid that he would awaken and discover it had all been a dream, a figment of his imagination come to torture him with what he couldn't have.  He still almost expected to wake up in the tower, a collar around his neck and cool chains encircling his wrists. 

            He felt the flash of anger in Ichigo's reiatsu before he felt the brush of Jyuushiro's from the yard.  A tiny flutter of panic went through him and he clutched the blankets - suddenly afraid.  If he had wanted to bring him back, he would have sent Jyuushiro to handle it.  The captain of the Thirteenth could have talked the birds from the trees if he'd ever had the mind to try.  He was charming and reasonable, a deadly combination. 

            A warm hand gently caressed his as reiatsu slid over him in a thick soothing wave.  He couldn't quite keep from clutching at that hand, or feeling pathetically grateful when Ichigo gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.  "I'll get Ururu to bring you some tea while I see what he wants," murmured the younger man, slowly releasing his hand, his fingers trailing softly over Kisuke's and making him shiver at the sensation.

            Ichigo had touched him countless times since their return, but the younger man had always been gentle with him.  Treating him as if he was made of the finest porcelain.  It was intoxicating and frightening - something Kisuke found himself wanting to become accustomed to.

            He waited until he heard the door slide shut before sighing and peeking out.  He crawled out, dragging his blanket with him and wrapping it around himself as he crept down the hall.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ichigo, he reflected, it was more that he didn’t trust Jyuushiro with redhead.  Ichigo had left the front door open and was standing on the porch, his arms folded and regarding Ukitake Jyuushiro who was standing respectfully in the yard. 

            "The order for his arrest has been rescinded pending a full hearing," murmured Jyuushiro.

            Ichigo gave a small nod.  There was a hard edge to him, something cold and unyielding, something Kisuke hadn't seen since the day the younger man had come for him.  With him Ichigo had been nothing but tender.

            "They won't reissue it.  Yama-jii has stepped down for health reasons and without support from within the Gotei 13 Central 46 has no interest in following up the matter."

            "Good," snarled Ichigo softly.

            "How is he?" asked Jyuushiro quietly.  Kisuke wondered if he imagined the note of guilt that tinged the other man's words.

            "Resting," growled Ichigo.  Jyuushiro smiled faintly at the terse answer, the other man knew him well enough to know that he never rested.  He hid from time to time but he never just stopped.  He hadn't 'rested’ since he had walked out of the alley his mother had abandoned him in.  Sometimes he floundered or fell, but he never simply stopped.  There had always been something to do, something to prove, something to strive for -

            But for the first time in his life all that was gone. 

            The realization was almost as shocking as Ichigo coming for him.  For the first time he had nothing pulling at him.

            "Shunsui and I managed to convince everyone that your actions were a response to a threat against someone important to you.  Even captains are human and more than one has been known to disobey orders and go charging off when someone he loved was involved," murmured the older man with a teasing smile.  Kisuke felt the angry flutter of reiatsu from Ichigo, amazed as Jyuushiro's smile grew wider.  It was not a normal reaction.  Most sane people would rather have stayed on Kurosaki Ichigo's good side.

            "Are you going to tell him?" asked the captain of the Thirteenth, his eyes positively twinkling and his grin near to bursting.

            "Leave it alone, Ukitake," grumbled Ichigo, looking and sounding much closer to the teenager he was than warrior he had become.  Jyuushiro shrugged, but his smile seemed to go up another notch as he earned a faint growl of annoyance from the redhead.

            “It would probably help if you told him,” posed the pale haired man, grinning even more brightly.

            "Fine!  I love him.  Happy now?" exploded Ichigo.

            Kisuke gasped, rocking on his feet and clutching the wall for support, sure he must have been hallucinating.  It couldn't be real.  He might have loved Ichigo once long ago.  But he had known that there was no way the younger man would reciprocate his feelings.  He had accepted that and pushed his feelings aside, savoring the friendship and trust the younger man had given him.  He had told himself it was enough, because he had never dared hoped for more.  The very idea that Ichigo might care about him as more than a friend...it had been so far beyond the realm of possibility that even dreaming of it had seemed futile. 

            That Ichigo might care, might return even a small fraction of the affection Kisuke had for him...

            Jyuushiro grew sober, a gentle smile gracing his lips and turning the white-haired captain from merely beautiful to truly breath-taking.  "Extremely.  You'll be good for him.  Kisuke needs someone to care about him, he's been alone far too long." 

            Kisuke shook his head and staggered back toward his room, needing to think, needing to find some way to get a handle on the situation.  Planning was definitely required.  Meaning pulling himself together had just become even more vital.  Meaning he needed to find the silence and solitude he craved.  He couldn't sit there with Ichigo watching over him and try and sort through his feelings - not when so many of his feelings related to the younger man.

            Kisuke looking around his bedroom seeing nothing for an instant as his mind drew a blank as to what he was going to do.  He had been subtly and not so subtly hinting that he wanted to be alone for days and everyone had ignored him.  Oddly, he didn’t see that changing just because he was even more adamant about being alone.

            His eyes slid to a green and white hat waiting on his nightstand and his brain clicked into gear, as if that small reminder of who and what he had once been was enough to get it going again.  He grabbed Benihime and a few articles of clothing - oddly, his fuzzy pajamas did not scream good mental health.  (He didn't know why, he thought blue bunnies were perfectly fine.)  A few toiletries joined the collection and he was down the ladder into the training room, a kidou barrier hopefully firmly making the point that he wanted solitude.

 

IV

 

            Six days.  For six days he had been stationed at the top of the stairs.  Waiting for the kidou barrier to fall and Kisuke to emerge.  He had tried to get Tessai to break the barrier when he had first discovered the blonde had retreated into his underground chamber, but the older man had quietly and firmly refused, murmuring that when Urahara hid it was because he needed to.  He had tried to break it himself, but his knowledge of kidou was still limited and while Ichigo was sure he could have blasted through the barrier, he didn't think Urahara or the other inhabitants of the shop would approve of the collateral damage that would be done to the shop.  Although since he was rapidly becoming an inhabitant of the shop Ichigo thought he should have been given a vote as well.

            And his vote was to rip through the damn spell and find Kisuke!

            He had been ready to storm Soul Society all over again, only this time he would have marked his passage in a trail of blood, when he had opened the bedroom door and found the blonde gone.  Only Ururu gently but firmly leading him by the hand into the kitchen and pointing out the kidou barrier over the door to the underground chamber had stopped his headlong rush to slaughter the Shinigami.  And even then it had been a near thing when he considered the possibility that Kisuke might have fled because of Ukitake.

            It had been Jinta who had pointed out that the blonde had been trying to get them to leave him alone for days.  Urahara had finally just taken the initiative and secured the privacy he'd wanted.  It was actually the most normal behavior he'd exhibited in days. 

            It didn't make the blonde's disappearance any easier to bear though.  It just left Ichigo vacillating between fretful and irritated.  He wanted Kisuke there, where he could be sure the blonde was safe, where he could... 

            Ichigo growled, he wanted to make it all better, to wash away all the fear and pain and see Kisuke happy.  Truly happy.  No masks, no fake smiles, no hiding.  And he couldn’t do that if Urahara was locked in his stupid training room!  Who would have thought that Urahara Kisuke was the type to go to ground? 

            Then again, how many people actually knew the blonde well enough to know when he was really hurt?  Urahara had turned hiding in plain sight into an art form.  After so many years, so many centuries, hidden behind a mask it had to be disconcerting to turn around and find it gone.  To find all your secrets laid bare for everyone to pour over and mock, to see the worst of yourself reflected in their taunting gazes...suddenly Kisuke’s retreat made a great deal more sense.  

            Ururu carefully set a tea tray on the kitchen table within easy reach; as she had done every night since he had begun his vigil.  “Good night, Kurosaki-san,” she murmured softly, as she turned off the lights and slipped off to bed.  She had stopped leaving the light on after the third night, when it had become apparent that he was not leaving until Urahara emerged.  Even going so far as to sleep in the kitchen.

            He let the darkness settle around him like comfortable blanket, his eyes slowly growing accustomed to it as he let the silence of the shop sink in, trying to calm the anxious place inside him.  In the relative peace it took him nearly a full minute to realize it when the odd, buzzing tingle of the barrier against his reiatsu stopped.  Ichigo felt his breath catch, almost afraid to hope that Kisuke was finally ready to rejoin the world. 

            The trapdoor slowly opened, as if the blonde was checking to make sure he was alone.  Knowing Urahara, he probably was.  It would be just like the older man to disappear for a week and then reappear like nothing happened.  A pale hand reached the top rung of the ladder and Ichigo struck, "You jerk," he growled, dragging the older man up and embracing him fiercely as soon as he was on his feet.  Ichigo shuddered faintly as faint scent of sandalwood and smoke filled his nose, shaking him to his core.  The smells were those he had always associated with Urahara and after six long days he was grateful beyond words to catch hints of them again.  They warmed that cold place inside him with the knowledge that Kisuke was all right.

            Strong arms encircled him, holding him tight and Ichigo couldn't help but relax into the other man, feeling whole for the first time in days.  "Did you mean it?" asked Kisuke softly, his voice quiet and hesitant.  Glancing up at the blonde Ichigo was shocked to find concern and just a hint of fear in the gray eyes regarding him.

            "What?  You being a jerk?  Fuck yes!  And if you ever pull this shit again I'll tear through the damn barrier and kick your ass myself," he snapped, unable to keep the worry from his voice.  Kisuke gently pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length, his fingers digging almost painfully into Ichigo's upper arms.

            "Not about that.  About...about...lo-caring...about me," whispered Kisuke, an odd vulnerability in his voice, his gray eyes filled with intensity and longing.  Ichigo stared at him before a smile slowly broke out over his face.

            "I wouldn't say care," he purred, pausing briefly and letting his eyes move over the other man.  "I'd say love is a far more accurate term."  The indrawn breath from Kisuke was immensely satisfying.  Fingers tightened on his arms and Ichigo knew he would be sporting bruises in the morning, a fact that pleased some small part of him.

            "Say it again," demanded Kisuke, his breathing ragged and his eyes glittering with unshed tears.

            "I love you, you idiot."  Another shudder and then he was being crushed in a fierce embrace, Kisuke panting into his shoulder and gripping him like he might vanish or be snatched away at any moment.  _Because everything he’s ever cared about had been_ , realized Ichigo soberly, suddenly both angry and hurt for the man in his arms.  He had suffered so much, been burned so many times that he didn’t even dare hope any more for fear even that tiny boon would be snatched away and crushed beneath some unconcerned heel. 

            “I love you, Kisuke,” he breathed softly, earning a strangled gasp from the blonde.  He gently shifted the other man, forcing his face up.  He growled in mild annoyance as he found gray eyes hidden by the shadow of the blonde's hat.  He tossed the hat away, earning a startled sound from Urahara before catching the older man's eyes.  "I love you," he murmured, his voice steady and his eyes locked on Kisuke's watching -

            For moment nothing.  And then the universe shifted in the blonde's eyes, remade and reordered itself in the space of an instant, because joyous wonder filled them.  Something so fragile and beautiful blossomed in the older man's eyes that Ichigo was amazed his legs didn't give way at the sight of it -

            Hope.

 

V

 

            Kisuke wondered that he was still on his feet, wondered that he hadn't passed out or woken up yet.  It was all too perfect to be real a tiny portion of his mind whispered.  Ichigo coming for him.  Ichigo loving him.  He had never even imagined that he could have anything so precious.   Him, a Rukongai street rat who had never meant anything to anyone.  He swayed slightly, Ichigo catching him and giving him a brilliant smile that seemed to say he understood and that everything would be okay.  Warm lips brushed his and Kisuke trembled before laying his head on the young man's shoulder, letting his body relax into Ichigo's, and just taking a moment to try and absorb it all.

            For the tiniest instant he had the urge to run - because if life had taught him one thing it was that nothing this good could ever last.  He would have this taste of paradise and then in a few hours, or days, or weeks, it would be ripped away and all that would be left was the bitter taste of ashes and tears.  And the regret.  There would always be regret. 

            "I can hear you thinking, Kisuke," growled Ichigo with affectionate and familiar menace. 

            "I'm always thinking," he pointed out quietly.  And he was always thinking.  It was usually what got him into trouble.

            "Well, knock it off.  I'm not going anywhere.  I love you," grumbled Ichigo, lips brushing his hair and hands sliding soothingly over his back.

            He sighed, relaxing into the warm tempting body pressed so close to his.  Touch was a powerful thing, to be held, caressed, to be offered comfort, it was a heady drug and he was powerless to resist it.  "I'm yours?" he teased softly, trying to make the question into a joke, but even he heard the lost, slightly wistful longing in his voice.  The desire to really belong to someone, to be wanted and kept.  To be loved. 

            Ichigo blushed faintly and shrugged.  "It seemed like a good idea at the time.  Besides, I didn't hear you arguing," retorted the redhead, nearly grinning as a blush spread over his cheeks.

            Kisuke hid his face against the younger man's throat, nuzzling his neck and brushing his lips over the soft skin.  "Because I wouldn't...object to being yours," he admitted quietly.  A dangerous truth, one of the few he had.

            Ichigo ducked his head, catching his lips and kissing him.  Kisuke moaned and nibbled gently on the younger man's lip before deepening the kiss.  He murmured soft appreciation at the slightly tart taste of the tea Ichigo had been drinking, his favorite, and under that the sinful taste of the young man himself.  He swallowed Ichigo's groan when the younger man pressed closer, their arms going around each other and their legs tangling.

            "Were you waiting for me all this time?" Kisuke finally asked slightly breathlessly, kissing him again before he could answer.  Not that it mattered, he was fairly sure he knew the answer anyway.  Ichigo had stormed Soul Society for him, waiting in a kitchen wasn't much of a hardship after that.  Ichigo's lips moved along his jaw, warm breath tickling his ear and making him shiver, his breath leaving him in a rush.  Strong fingers shoved gently at the edges of his shirt as warm lips began traveling down his neck.  He groaned and tilted his head to give Ichigo better access and sighed when sword calloused hands slipped beneath the green fabric of his shirt to trace his shoulders.

            "Where did my shy little strawberry go?" teased Kisuke, laughter sparkling in his eyes for the first time in days, real laughter, and for a moment Ichigo was smiling at him before a familiar scowl darkened his lips at the much hated nickname.  

            "You're such an ass," growled the redhead without any real heat, and the kiss he gave Kisuke did absolutely nothing to chastise him. 

            Kisuke chuckled, his hands falling to Ichigo's waist and sliding beneath his shirt every now and then to brush tantalizingly against warm skin.  Ichigo murmured soft appreciation into his neck, nibbling gently and earning a tiny shiver.  The redhead shoved his shirt from his shoulders, nipping at a pale shoulder.  "Beautiful," whispered the younger man, glancing up at him through half lidded eyes.

            Kisuke moaned as strong hands slid over his back, slowly baring it.  He had never imagined anything could feel as good as Kurosaki Ichigo's hands sliding over his body.  He let his eyes slip closed to savor the gentle touch of those fingers, frowning faintly as Ichigo's hands stopped moving.  He opened his eyes to find a puzzled frown on the younger man's lips.  The scars, he finally realized, a spike of cold going through him. 

            His back was a patchwork of old scars.  A map of pain and suffering, of hunger and cold, and never having enough.  It marked his origins all too eloquently to one and all.  And he'd had more than one lover struggle to conceal their distaste, like a flaw found in a jewel after one has bought it.  He didn't want to see that disappointment in Ichigo's eyes, didn't want to watch as the younger man finally understood just what he was, where he had come from - because there was only one place a man got whipped.

            "What’s wrong, Kisuke?" asked Ichigo softly, making him realize that he had been still and silent too long. 

            "I don't want to talk about it," he snapped, drawing himself up tall and straight, somehow managing to ensure his face remained hidden by shadows. 

            He watched as Ichigo frowned, trying to study him, to understand and he pushed at the redhead, wanting to be free, wanting to escape.  Determination filled those ocher eyes and Ichigo caught his right wrist, growling faintly and drawing it up, baring the soft skin to his gaze.  There on the inside of his wrist was a tiny line of silvery flesh.  Ichigo pressed his lips to the pale scar and Kisuke felt his breath catch, blood rushing in his ears as the younger man traced the mark with his tongue before nipping at the delicate skin.  "Do you really think a few marks like these matter?  Do you really think that I care about that, Kisuke?  Or that they make you any less beautiful?" he breathed, his voice a low, soft purr and his breath ghosting over the blonde's wrist.

            "Ichigo," he pleaded, unable to keep the fear and pain from his voice.  He didn't want this.  He didn't want to talk about this or bare this part of himself.  Truthfully, he would rather cut these parts of his past out, exercise them from his memory and erase them from his body.  His eyes darted to Ichigo and then away again, not wanted to see when the realization of what he was dawned in the younger man's eyes.  He couldn't bear that - having Ichigo turn away from him in disgust.

            "Please," he whispered, his voice weak and thready.

            Ichigo kissed the thin scar again.  "This comes from Benihime," he murmured softly.  Kisuke gave a choked sob but nodded. 

            "My shi-kai release," he whispered.  Benihime drew her power from his blood.  Each time he used her, the sword reopened her marks and drank in a tiny portion of his life force.  He was linked to her in an endless song of blood and death, something dark and powerful.

            The redhead gave him a tiny smile, kissing the scar once more before releasing his wrist.  Warm fingers traced over his sleeve and up his arm to his bare shoulders and then to his chest, pushing his shirt aside before ghosting over a six inch long mark under his left pec.  Urahara bit his lip as the fingers reached the edge of the scar and Ichigo smirked, leaning forward to trace it with his tongue.  "And this one?" he demanded quietly, drawing a whimper from the blonde.  "This one, Kisuke," he pressed gently.

            "My ban-kai."  Ichigo nodded and rewarded him with another kiss to the mark before pressing his lips to his left nipple, making him gasp.  Long fingers tangled into brilliant orange hair and even he couldn't have said if it was to stop Ichigo or insist upon more.  He barely noticed his shirt falling to the floor as Ichigo traced a lazy path to his right nipple, moaning as he tugged at the younger man's hair.

            Kisuke's eyes slid open as the gentle torture stopped, his legs nearly giving out as he watched Ichigo sink to his knees and smile up at him.  The redhead knew the next scar all on his own.  It was a two inch vertical line just above his navel.  The redhead nuzzled Kisuke's stomach and kissed the mark, even going so far as to blow a soft raspberry.  "I know this one," he purred.  "Ichimaru.  You stopped him from stabbing me in the throat."  Kisuke nodded, he had thrown himself between the two men, desperate to stave off that blow.  It hadn't mattered that he had nearly died himself in the process, all that had mattered was Ichigo.  It was when he had realized he loved the young Shinigami, crumbling to the ground, his body numb.  Pain had come a moment later, but it hadn't mattered because Ichigo had been beside him, alive.  That had made the pain bearable, worth it, because it was for Ichigo.  And for Ichigo he would have walked through hell itself.

             "I love you," promised the younger man softly.

            Kisuke watched frozen as Ichigo carefully untied his pants, sliding them to the floor, his eyes on the pale left thigh and the mark there.  It was a starburst of pox-marked, almost knotted skin, some of it pale and silvery like the other scars and some a shade or two darker than the surrounding tissue, bringing it to notice.  "This one?" he asked, rubbing his cheek against the old wound like a cat.

            "A lab accident.  One of the aids came to deliver a message to me, he bumped into a table, knocked over an apparatus containing acetone peroxide, causing it to explode.  I was slammed into the work bench and the beaker I was holding shattered against my hip.  Chemical burns and broken glass."  Ichigo nodded, brushing his lips over the pitted flesh.

            He worked his way down Kisuke's leg, caressing and kissing the smooth warm flesh before repeating the whole process on his right leg, pausing at the knee to mark another scar.  The one was old and almost invisible, a jagged tear, like the skin had been ripped away.  "Playing with Yoruichi when I was fourteen.  She slammed into me and I went tumbling, caught my knee on a rock," offered Kisuke quietly.

            Ichigo rose and brown eyes met and locked with gray, determined but filled with the same tenderness Kisuke had first seen in them before Ichigo had begun this odd little game of show and tell.  He felt naked before those eyes and the tiny smirk Ichigo gave him said the redhead knew it.  "Brat," scolded Kisuke weakly, a smile starting to quirk his lips but quickly falling as Ichigo gently began to urge him to turn.

            "Ichigo," he pleaded softly.  The other scars hadn't mattered, but he didn't want to talk about these.  The marks on his back were not as bad as the one on his hip, just a few pale lines and raised welts crisscrossing his back, barely noticeable unless someone was paying attention really, but they weighed far more heavily than any of the others.   They were the ones that had cut him the deepest.

            Ichigo made a soft, soothing noise and kissed his right shoulder, but continued to maneuver him.  "I don't want to talk about those!" he snapped, trying for firmness and instead getting slightly panicky.  The redhead ignored him, pressing his chest to Kisuke's back and holding him tight, not pushing, not asking, simply there.  Waiting.

            Urahara felt his eyes slip shut at the implications, hating Ichigo for doing this to him, for being one of the few people who could.  What made it worse was that the younger man wasn't demanding the information he wanted, he had simply expressed his desire to know and now he expected Kisuke to give it to him, to flay his soul.  He shivered and stubbornly locked his jaw.  He didn't want to talk about this and that should have been enough.

            Lips trailed over his neck and strong arms continued to hold him, fingers moving in tiny patterns over his skin, stealing his anger and agitation piece by piece.  The minutes ticked by, although Kisuke had lost track of them early on, and eventually the weight of Ichigo's silent expectation began to pull on him.  Ichigo, who had saved him, to whom he owed anything the younger man chose to take from him.  He took a deep breath and let it out as a heavy sigh, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally starting. 

            "The merchants...the water merchants of the Rukongai, they would beat you if they caught you stealing.  Sometimes just a cuff to the head, sometimes more.  I was seven the last time one of them caught me.  He recognized me as one of the rats, children...orphans, who stole what they could to try and stay alive.  I...They all knew I stole from them, but I was good at it, had fast hands and was clever.  So when he actually caught me he decided to make an example.

“He dragged me to the center of the square..."

            He could feel the sudden tension in the arms holding him and the body pressed to his, but Ichigo's voice was still soft and calm, whispering tender words against his skin.  Kisuke growled faintly, his voice going quieter but laced with menace, daring the younger man to judge him for this.  Ichigo had forced him to do this and it would be his fault if he didn't like it.  "He stripped me and tied me to a post.  He whipped me," he snarled, whirling to meet blazing eyes that were swirling silver and black.  Those strangely shifting eyes met his and a low crooning noise slipped from Ichigo's throat, something not entirely human.  Ichgio rubbed their cheeks together, but there was nothing comforting about the gesture, rather it was something proprietary, like a cat scent marking what was his.  A growl rumbled in the younger man's throat and Kisuke felt the faintest answering rumble in his own.

            "I should kill them for hurting you," hissed Ichigo, crushing him to his chest.  And as he felt the truth of the redhead's words echo through his power Kisuke realized that he meant it...And that somehow that made it alright.  As if this one instant in time made all the pain and doubt that had come before it bearable because it had lead to this, something greater than the culmination of all his dreams, something so perfect he hadn't even known to hope for it.

            He sighed and sagged into Ichigo's embrace, the anger gone and leaving only quiet peace and awe in its place.  He nuzzled the redhead affectionately, making a small noise of protest as Ichigo released him.  The noise earned him a smile and a quick kiss, which he thought didn't nearly make up for the loss of Ichigo warm and comfortable against him.

            "Come on," whispered Ichigo, leading him from the kitchen and toward his bedroom.  For one dizzying moment he wondered what Ururu or Tessai would think finding his clothes in the kitchen in the morning.  He quickly realized however that he was probably the only person in the shop who hadn't figured out Ichigo's intensions for him days ago, which made laughter bubble out of his chest and earned him a tiny glare from the redhead.

            He felt his cheeks heat, suddenly nervous about going to bed for what had to be the first time in centuries.  All the lovers he'd had and suddenly he was anxious, had no idea what to do or say.  Because it mattered, he realized dazedly.  It mattered this time.  This wasn't just anyone, this was Ichigo and it mattered because he mattered.  

            Ichigo paused in the doorway to the bedroom, giving him a reassuring look and a quick kiss, before dragging him inside and closing the door.  And then the incredible was happening again, the stuff of his dreams - if he had even dared to dream of it.  He hadn't though, not of this.  A quick fantasy of Ichigo...well, who wouldn't?  This though...Ichigo loving him, wanting him, not just for a one off, but forever...

            His brain gave up on trying to figure out just how incredible it was because Ichigo was stripping, pants falling, boxers going with them, and that was far more interesting than trying to figure out how it had happened.  He stared at long legs, strawberry curls and a half hard cock, his mouth dry.  He was back to feeling awkward and uncertain again.  This beautiful creature who could have had anyone had chosen him and he couldn't quite figure out why or how it had happened.

            "Come to bed, Kisuke," murmured Ichigo softly, seizing his hand and brushing his lips over his knuckles before gently tugging him in the direction of the bed.  He stumbled along obediently, his mind running in frantic little circles as Ichigo dragged him down and turned off the lights.  Kisuke jumped as the younger man snuggled close and kissed him, a quick peck on the lips that was more affectionate than passionate.

            "Ichigo?" he whispered tentatively into the darkness, waiting for the touch that signaled more was to come.

            "Go to sleep, Kisuke," ordered the redhead, sighing and relaxing against him.  Sleep claimed the younger man almost instantly, but he stayed tangled around Urahara.  His very presence a silent promise.

            "I...I lo...Thank you," he finally whispered into darkness, letting himself relax against Ichigo and trusting that the younger man would be there in the morning and in all the other mornings following it.

 

VI

 

            Ichigo awoke to long fingers gliding gently over his face, caressing his cheek and tracing his lips with something near reverence.  Brown eyes slid open and a smile tugged at his lips as he stared up at the figure gazing down on him with gentle wonder.  Sunlight glittered in blonde hair, turning it to white gold, and lit a face that was still beautiful despite the traces of shadow it carried from the night before.  Dawn looked to be helping to ease the older man though.  Although something told Ichigo that it would be years before the horror of his imprisonment faded completely from Kisuke's features.  He reached out, caressing the blonde's cheek tenderly before letting his fingers slide into silky locks, tugging the older man down to kiss him softly, a warm and tender greeting that the other man returned eagerly.

            "Mmmm...morning," he murmured when the blonde finally released his lips.

            "And a good one," chuckled Kisuke, nuzzling his cheek and snuggling in comfortably at his side.  Ichigo closed his eyes and breathed in the perfect tranquility of the moment, the sunlight drifting in, Kisuke pressed close to him - the other man's scent filling his nose and his reiatsu dancing delicately over his skin.  For that single golden moment - his life, the universe, everything - was perfect.

            He felt Kisuke shift against him, and teenage hormones perked up, taking a keen interest in all that warm skin pressed so tantalizingly close to his.  He swallowed heavily and tried to push the sudden rush of desire away.  It had been easy the night before, with Kisuke vulnerable and hurting, to push away any interest in all that supple alabaster skin and concentrate only on trying to give the blonde the comfort he needed.  In the soft morning light, Kisuke filling his senses and hints of that old Urahara merriment coming back, it was much harder to forget that the body pressed so close to his was not only beautiful but had been the stuff of more masturbatory fantasies than Ichigo really wanted to admit to.

            He yelped as moist lips closed around his left nipple, sucking gently and sending heat rolling through his body.  A clever tongue circled his nipple before teeth gently closed around it.  "Fuck, Kisuke," he panted, hardly able to believe how good that had felt.  Fingers tangled in shaggy blonde hair although Ichigo wasn't sure if he want to tug the blonde away or hold him there to continue the sweet torture. 

            Blunt nails raked the right side of his chest before fingers delicately circled his right nipple, sending a shiver through his body and a jolt through his cock.  There was a soft chuckle from the man at his chest and it was all he could do to drag those sinful lips away from his skin.

            Ichigo opened his eyes to find the older man regarding him, a shyly pleased smile curling his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, something bright and joyous that left Ichigo feeling possessive and protective.  He reached out, fingers sliding over Kisuke's cheek before tangling in silky blonde hair, tugging the older man up to kiss him properly.  He made a soft sound of appreciation as a tongue thrust gently into his mouth before twining with his own, teasing and enticing.  Kisuke murmured softly, pressing close to him, all hard angles and long planes, and the most incredible thing Ichigo had ever felt.  He wrapped his arms around the blonde, holding him tight and rocking against him, his cock rubbing against a strong thigh.  He groaned as he felt an answering hardness pressing into his hip. 

            Who knew Urahara would be so amorous in the morning?  He would have bet good money that the blonde wouldn't be functional until noon without the aid of several strong cups of coffee.  Not that he was going to complain, not when he had the older man kissing him like he had not only invented original sin but wanted to follow up with something even more lascivious.

            "We don't have to...do anything," he murmured softly, his cock screaming most emphatically that Urahara did indeed have to do something.  And preferably something that involved both of them coming.   

            "And if I want to?" purred the blonde, a glimmer of that old Urahara playfulness slipping into his voice while those pale gray eyes twinkled at him.  Under the jovialness there was something serious though; he could sense it, feel it lurking just beyond the edge of his understanding.  Some aspect of his lover waiting to rise up and test him, to see whether it would be accepted.

            "I'm yours, Kisuke," he murmured solemnly, his vision shifting slightly as Shirosaki rose, not dark, not angry, but curious and earnest.  As if the blonde's next words would be important to him too.

            Mistrust flared in those beautiful eyes, doubt, the inability - almost unwillingness - to believe.  But under that hunger roared.  Kisuke might not have believed him, but the blonde desperately wanted to.    "Mine?" demanded the former Shinigami quietly, an oddly stilted seriousness to his tone.

            "Yours.  Forever," he promised, feeling Shirosaki sink back to his resting place with the possessive contentment of a sated dragon coiling atop his hoard.  He was startled from his contemplation of the Hollow's peaceful retreat by Kisuke's lips seizing his in a fierce and desperate kiss, strong arms clutching at him.  He pressed himself hard against his lover, kissing him back just as roughly, not understanding how something so brutal could feel so fragile, as if any moment could shred the delicate ties being woven between them.

            Desperation slowly became only heat and hunger as the kiss went on, the moment spinning out into the silent promise that this would not fail.  Whatever else happened, whatever came, they would always have this and the knowledge that there was one person who would never turn away.  Teeth dragged over his bottom lip almost painfully as the kiss ended and Ichigo moaned softly at the loss.  Kisuke panted for a moment before a warm tongue stole out to gently caress his lip and tiny kisses began to fall over his cheeks and jaw.  The blonde rocked slowly against him as his lips began tracing Ichigo's throat and collarbone, drawing soft whimpers from the younger man as heat and friction stole his mind.

            Warm breath tickled his ear, one more in the sea of sensations slowly dragging him under.  "And if I want to?" pressed a sultry whisper with just a hint of uncertainty lurking behind it.  "If I want to watch you come?  Feel you all around me?"  A wet tongue laved his ear and his cock was so hard Ichigo wondered that it didn't burst.

            Kisuke inside him.  Feeling the older man moving, taking him, claiming him, all that incredible focus directed at him.  Hunger rose, sharp and hot, wiping away everything but the beautiful man pressed against him and the intoxicating suggestion he presented.

            He pushed at Urahara's shoulders, rolling the older man onto his back and following, kissing Kisuke eagerly.  Everything fell away under the sinful taste of that mouth and the amazing feel of the body under his.  "Anything," he breathed against Kisuke's lips when the kiss finally ended.  "Anything you want.  Everything."  Gray eyes stared at him, filled with wonder, and on its heels came a desire that was all but scorching.  Long fingers tangled in his hair and Ichigo groaned as he attacked Kisuke's lips in a kiss that was hot and wet.              His hips rocked against the older man's, both of them moaning as the kiss they shared grew more desperate.  His world narrowed to the points of contact between them and the blinding need to come, a coiling tension that was both wonderful and maddening.  "Fuck," he panted, burying his face in Kisuke's neck and trying to still the racing of his heart, to get control of himself.

            "That is the idea," whispered Kisuke with a warm chuckle that faded into a moan as he continued to roll his hips.  "You feel so good, Ichigo...want you so much." 

            As that hot breath slid against his ear Ichigo groaned and nodded.  Kisuke shifted under him, long legs wrapping around his hips and bringing their cocks together, both of them moaning at the contact. 

            "Kisuke," he begged, desperate for more, anything to push him over the edge.

            "I'll know.  I'll handle it," murmured Kisuke, something tender passing over his face.  The blonde rolled them and Ichigo stared up at the familiar yet alien face.  “Just relax, Kurosaki-kun,” quipped the older man, mischief and light sparkling in his eyes for a moment before the blonde tenderly caressed his cheek.  “Ichigo.”  His name both a promise and a plea. 

            Brown eyes sought grey and his lips quirked into a gentle smile as Ichigo pulled the other man close and kissed him.  Answer given.  Kisuke respond eagerly, his whole body melting against Ichigo’s and making the younger man groan.  The blonde felt sinfully good against him and Ichigo growled, nipping at the older man's throat.  Kisuke gave a soft whimper, his hips jerking.

            They writhed together, hands grasping and legs tangling.  Ichigo moaned for Kisuke to do something - anything - to ease the maddening tension.  Each time he managed to pull his lips from the older man's though teeth would gently nibble his neck, or hips would twist and bring their cocks together, and all he could do was moan.  "Please...Please, Kisuke," he finally managed to gasp, earning a soft purr from the blonde.

            He gave a broken denial as the former Shinigami pulled away, the sound becoming a deep groan as Kisuke sat up, straddling his hips.  Ichigo stared up at the older man, not quite able to believe his eyes.  Kisuke's skin was flushed, his hair tousled, and his lips slightly swollen, giving him an air of debauchery that looked simply sinful.   A knowing smile crossed his lips and Ichigo blinked, he looked beautiful and sensual and powerful - an incubus come to life.  Ichigo groaned and reached for him, frowning slightly as Kisuke shook his head.

            "Just enjoy," ordered the blonde,  his hand warm and slick as it closed around Ichigo's cock, making the young Shinigami gasp and buck.  The blonde stroked him with long, confident strokes, smiling down at him with a smug satisfaction.  "You look so beautiful," purred the former Shinigami, leaning forward to brush their lips together in a brief kiss.  Then Kisuke was pulling away and all Ichigo could do was moan, his eyes slipping shut as he tried to keep himself from just grabbing the blonde.

            Ichigo's eyes shot open as tight heat slowly gripped his cock, breath stuttering in his chest as he watched Kisuke slowly impale himself on his cock.  He stared at where their bodies met, his mind almost unable to believe what he was seeing, Kisuke taking him inch by agonizing inch.  The blonde sinking down on to him, moaning and biting his lip, like Ichigo's cock inside him was the best damn thing he had ever felt. 

            And then Kisuke's hips were settling on his and grey eyes opened to stare at him with smoldering hunger.  Ichigo groaned as the blonde wriggled in his lap, unable to believe how good it felt - Kisuke writhing on his cock, soft little mewls escaping from his throat.  His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst, that sleek, beautiful body was wrapped around him so snugly that Ichigo was amazed he hadn't passed out from the mere feel of that alone.   "Kisuke," he pleaded, reaching out for the blonde, desperate to touch him, needing to feel some part of the blonde and know that the dream in his lap was real.  Long fingers laced with his, dragging them to the older man's hips.   Ichigo sucked in a breath, flexing his fingers and savoring the feel of soft skin and sharp hipbones.  Kisuke smiled at him, a bright, tender smile full of joy and sensual heat, shifting and then lifting himself.

            The redhead moaned soft denial as warm air replaced the silken heat of Kisuke's body.  The blonde's chuckle made him growl, but Ichigo quickly forgave him as the blonde descended.  Brown eyes rolled back and slid closed, the tight heat no less shocking the second time he felt it.  And then Kisuke was moving, a slow, steady rhythm the seemed designed to steal every part of him right down to his soul.

            "Yeessss," he managed to hiss.  "Oh fuck yes.  More.  Again," he demanded, trying again to move the other man, to feel that wonderfully tight heat moving over him.  The blonde purred and obeyed, his hands falling to Ichigo's pecs as he rode the younger man.  Ichigo groaned, he knew there was a Hell, but he was fairly sure this was heaven.  Experimentally on the next thrust down he rolled his hips up to meet the blonde, a jolt of pleasure racing up his spine as Kisuke gasped and lightly scored his chest.   He repeated the move and Kisuke groaned, a low sound pulled from his chest as Ichigo panted.   He thrust his hips again, gray eyes opening and the blonde beginning to move with him, a soft purr coming from the shopkeeper.  Ichigo moaned almost continuously, his cries mingling with the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and Kisuke's own sounds of pleasure.

            It was all so much better than he'd imagined.  The blonde was making these soft little pleasure noises and it was all he could do not to slam into the blonde to try and hear more.  His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst, and that sleek, beautiful body moving with his was indescribably erotic - graceful, sensual, powerful.  Perfection. "Kisuke," he pleaded, hands flexing on the blonde's hips as his own moved in slow controlled little circles, matching the slow flex and slide of the blonde’s hips.

            Teeth dragged over a full bottom lip and gray eyes opened, filled with primitive and primal fire, something wordless and elemental.  Kisuke drew in a deep breath, body arching, and dragged himself up, a drawn out moan of denial being wretched from Ichigo.  The blonde gave him a feral smile and slammed his hips down sharply, making Ichigo wail and jerk his hips upward. 

            And then they were truly moving.  Bodies rocking hard and fast into one another, fingers clutching, and hearts racing.  Tension coiled through his body and the only thing Ichigo could see was Kisuke, those silver eyes watching him and that mouth twisted into a snarl as the blonde panted and cursed with each thrust.  It was so good, better than his dreams, better than his fantasies.  Ichigo growled and thrust in hard, Kisuke grinding down on to him, a hitching sob coming from his throat.  Ichigo reached out, fingers curling around the blonde's cock, Kisuke crying out sharply as his body clenched.  He gasped, hot cum splattering his chest as he tumbled after the blonde.

            Ichigo came back sometime later to warm lips nuzzling his jaw and smiled.  He felt incredible, better than good, and the firm body curled against him did nothing but increase his contentment.  His lips slid against the blonde's, hands wrapping around the older man as Kisuke murmured happily, snuggling closer.  He sighed and sank into the bedding, trying to savor the moment, the perfection of it.

            "I...I might not say it, but I do," whispered Kisuke, lifting his face from resting against Ichigo's shoulder to peer down at him.  The redhead couldn't remember ever seeing the former Shinigami looking so earnest, begging Ichigo to believe.

            "I know," he soothed, gently tugging the blonde's head back down and holding him close.  "I know, Kisuke.  I love you."


End file.
